Jeanne of the Marshes eBook

“Jeanne is the only difficulty,” the Princess
said. “It would suit me better, for upon
my word I don’t know where I could get credit
for her trousseau.”

“It isn’t any use waiting,” Forrest
said. “I have watched them together, and
I am sure of it. De Brensault isn’t one
of those fellows who improve upon acquaintance.
Look, there they are. Nothing very lover-like
about that, is there?”

De Brensault and Jeanne were crossing the room together.
Only the very tips of her fingers rested upon his
coat-sleeve, and there was a marked aloofness about
her walk and the carriage of her head. He was
saying something to her to which she seemed to be paying
the scantiest of attention. Her head was thrown
back, and in her eyes was a great weariness.
Suddenly, just as they reached the entrance, they
saw her whole expression change. A wave of colour
flooded her cheeks. Her eyes were suddenly filled
with life. They saw her lips part. Her hands
were outstretched to greet the man who, crossing the
room, had stopped at her summons. Both the Princess
and Forrest frowned when they saw who it was.
It was Andrew de la Borne.

“That infernal fisherman!” Forrest muttered.
“I saw in the paper that he had returned this
afternoon from The Hague.”

The Princess made an involuntary movement forward,
but Forrest checked her.

“You can do no good,” he said. “Wait
and see what happens.”

What did happen was very simple, and for the Count
de Brensault a little humiliating. Jeanne passed
her arm through the newcomer’s and with the
curtest of nods to her late companion, disappeared
through an open doorway. The Belgian stood looking
after them, twirling his moustache with shaking fingers.
His face was paler even than usual, and he was shaking
with anger.

“Leave him alone for a few minutes,” Forrest
said to the Princess. “You will do no good
at all by speaking to him just now. Ena, it is
absolutely necessary that you make Jeanne understand
the state of affairs.”

“I think,” the Princess said thoughtfully,
“that it will be best to take her away from
London. Lately I have noticed a development in
Jeanne which I do not altogether understand. She
has begun to think for herself most unpleasantly.
She plays at being a child with De Brensault, but
that is simply because it is the easiest way to repulse
him.”

Meanwhile Jeanne, whose face was transfigured, and
whose whole manner was changed, was sitting with her
companion in the quietest corner they could find.

“It is delightful to see you again,” she
said frankly. “I do not think that any
one ever felt so lonely as I do.”

He smiled.

“I can assure you that I find it delightful
to be back again,” he said, “although
I have enjoyed my work very much. By the by, who
introduced you to the man whom you were with when I
found you?”

“My stepmother,” she answered. “He
is the man, by the by, whom I am told I am to marry.”